


your love could start a war (it's what I'm fighting for)

by carrythesky



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied Smut, Just a big bowl of Kastle feelings, Mild Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows that when it comes to Frank Castle, she will never be done.</p><p>-----</p><p>A mishmash of Kastle drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you were the lightning, i was the thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little drabble that I did for Kastle week on Tumblr. So excited to have fallen headfirst into the wonderful trash can that is the Kastle fandom! Thanks for reading. :)

They drop the _f_ word one night.

 

(Not that one).

 

_Friends._

 

“Why you would ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee with that shit is beyond me,” Frank growls from the living room. He’s reclining on her couch, armed with coffee that’s black enough to match the twin shiners that adorn his face, and not for the first time, Karen is struck by how normal this all is. How domestic. It’s been weeks since the Blacksmith, since she lied through her teeth and told him he was dead to her, told him she was done. And here they are, back in each other’s lives, picking up where they left off as if he never threw the trial, as if he never used her as bait in that shitty diner. As if he’s still Frank Castle, and not something else entirely.

 

And she knows that when it comes to Frank Castle, she will never be done.

 

“Shut up, Frank,” is all she can muster in response. She’s exhausted, bone-weary - between long days at the Bulletin and even longer nights spent patching up the Punisher’s wounds, she finds that sleep has become a hazy, distant memory.

 

“That how you talk to all your guests, ma’am?”

 

Karen fights back a smile as she stirs cream into her coffee. “Just the ones who get blood on my carpet.” She says it lightly, but her heart still clenches as she remembers the state he was in when he stumbled into her apartment a few hours ago. She’d managed to stitch him up, hands trembling and pulse hammering in her throat, wondering if there would come a day when he couldn’t be put back together.

 

She picks up her coffee mug and turns. There are places for her to sit - the kitchen table, the chair in the living room - but she’s tired of dancing around this _thing_ that’s been building between them, so in a moment of sleep-deprived recklessness, she approaches the couch.

 

“Move,” she says, and it comes out sounding like an order. She tries again. “Please.”

 

His eyes widen with surprise (amusement?), but he sits up, swings his legs over until his feet are touching the floor. Sets his coffee down. Threads his fingers together on his knees.

 

She sits, grasping her mug with both hands and curling her legs beneath her. Minutes pass as she sips her drink, and a comfortable silence stretches between the two of them. Slowly, her eyes close, and the tension she’s held throughout the day dissolves away.

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he finally says.

 

“For what?” she asks sleepily.

 

“Taking me in, patching me up.” A pause. Then, “All the nights I’ve come here, you could’ve shut the door in my face. Probably should have.”

 

Her eyes flutter open, meeting his. He’s staring at her in a way that is both soft and intense, and she is suddenly acutely aware of just how long it’s been since her last shower. Heat blooms in her face - mortified, she averts her gaze, hand darting up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“It’s nothing,” she says. “Doing what you do every night…it seems like a lonely way to live.”

 

“Lonely?” he asks, grinning. She can’t help it - the edges of her mouth pull up slowly until she’s smiling back.

 

“I just mean that…” she trails off. “It just sounds like you could use a friend, that’s all.”

 

His grin fades, eyes darken. Slowly, he unclasps his fingers and brings his hands to rest at his sides. If she shifts her position even slightly on the couch, her foot will brush against his fingers. She remains frozen. “Is that what we are?” he asks, voice low. “Friends?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

His fingers twitch, graze her foot.

 

Thunder rumbles in the distance.


	2. two parallel lines

She never expected to see him again, not really. He’s the Punisher now, has been since the moment he slammed that door in her face ( _“I’m already dead.”_ ) She had known then, standing alone in the dark with nothing but the tears on her face for company, that Frank Castle was really gone. The monster had won.

 

So when she flicks on the lights after coming home from a late night at the Bulletin, she thinks the hunched over figure sitting at the table must be a figment of her sleep-starved brain. _No way_ , she thinks. _No way would he be this stupid._

 

He glances up at her entrance. He’s still wearing that ridiculous hat, and his face is all shadows and bruises, hard edges and punishing lines. “Ma’am,” he says, voice husky and low.

 

She’s gaping, she knows she is, but she can’t seem to control her facial muscles. “You…” she says, not moving from the entryway. “You goddamn asshole.”

 

His eyes remain dark and still, but she swears she sees his lips twitch upwards at the corners slightly. She wants so badly to be angry with him, but she’s filled to the brim with something else, something softer, a kaleidoscope of feelings she can’t quite describe. Her heart is fluttering fast and erratic against her rib cage, her pulse pounding so loudly in her ears she wonders if he can hear it.

 

“Still right about that,” he replies, standing. There’s a familiar levity to his words, and she’s caught up in a sudden storm of memories (“ _Maybe I oughta go back and rot in my goddamn jail cell…that was a thick slice of bullshit there, counselor_.”) She had smiled back then, during the trial, because of him. She’d believed in him.

 

He’s watching her now, looking at her as if he can see right through her. She knows that he knows what she’s thinking, and she hates that she’s so transparent, so easy for him to read. So she pictures the woods, the tool shed, the bloody streak that the Blacksmith’s wounds left in the dirt. She pictures his face in the moments before he slammed the door on whatever this thing between them is (was).

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head, resolute. “No. You need to leave. Please, just…just go.”

 

His eyes drop to the floor, and she notices his trigger finger twitching restlessly against his leg. She is gripped with a sudden urge to scream at him, scream and scream until her throat bleeds. _What were you expecting?_ she shouts at him in her head. _What the hell were you expecting?_

 

He meets her gaze as he begins to move towards the entryway. _Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him_ , she thinks, but she is unable to turn her eyes away. He seems exactly the same, and completely different, and she wonders how many he’s killed since that night in the woods, how many times he’s had to scrub the blood from his skin. _I trusted you, once_. She had trusted Frank Castle. She is almost positive that she can bring herself to trust the monster he’s become, too, and the thought that scares the shit out of her is that her trust might someday grow into something more.

 

He pauses when he reaches the doorway. Turns. Eyes bore into her, black as a starless night. “Karen,” he says softly. It’s the first time he’s said her name.

 

She closes the door in his face.


	3. hell's hot for good reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Will you just hold still?"

_I’m going to kill him_ , she thinks, pumps clicking violently against the sidewalk as she makes her way back to her apartment. She’s walking fast, arms wrapped around herself, breath huffing from her lungs in ragged bursts. The two margaritas she downed in the half-hour she sat at the restaurant have left her slightly tipsy, but have done little to curb the anger simmering beneath her skin. This is the third time a date has stood her up in the past couple of weeks, and she’s starting to think that maybe it’s not a coincidence. _Should’ve shot the asshole when I had the chance._

 

She’s barely two blocks from her apartment when she hears footsteps behind her, feels a hand on her elbow -

 

“Karen-”

 

She spins on her heel, wrenching out of his grasp. “So how does this work?” she snaps, glaring at him. He looks the same as the last time she saw him, except his hair is shorter now, freshly buzzed against the curve of his scalp. Distantly, it occurs to her that she can see more of his face this way, every line and angle, the fresh bruises blooming beneath his cheekbones -

 

“Look, I know you’re upset-”

 

A harsh chuckle escapes her throat. The _arrogance_ of this man. “Oh, you know I’m upset? How _intuitive_ of you. Attention, Hell’s Kitchen!” She cups her hands around her mouth, turning her face towards the sky. “The Punisher has a sixth-sense when it comes to angry women!”

 

“Christ, Karen!” He grabs her again, roughly this time, dragging her down one of the back alleys that branches off from the main road. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

She shoves him away, wobbling slightly on her feet. Her head feels fuzzier than it did a few minutes ago, and there’s a steady pressure building behind her eyes. _Shit, I think I might actually be drunk. Turning into a goddamn lightweight._ Frank is looking at her, head tilted, eyes narrow, and she feels a spike of irritation. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” she says. “You tell me to stay away from you, and then you pry into my personal life. I’m getting whiplash, Frank. Make up your _goddamn_ mind.”

 

He runs a hand over his scalp, eyes boring into her. “You’re right. Shit…I know it’s none my business, I get it. I just-” he trails off and lets loose an exasperated sigh. “You deserve-”

 

That does it; she has had enough of the men in her life deciding what is and isn’t best for her. Her anger ignites as she spits through gritted teeth, “Don’t tell me what I deserve, Frank. Patriarchal _bullshit_. Jesus, do I need to shout it from the rooftops? _I can take care of myself_. That includes being able to date whoever I the hell I want, whenever the hell I want!”

 

He opens his mouth as if to argue, then pauses. Confusion flickers in his eyes. “I…agree,” he says slowly. “That’s exactly what I told Red.”

 

She stares at him blankly, struggling to make sense of what he just said. As quickly as it flared, her rage dissipates, dissolves into the alcohol-induced fog surrounding her mind. “Matt? What…what does he have to do with any of this?”

 

He looks genuinely baffled, eyes widening and eyebrows arching. “Figured you would have heard from him by now,” he says. “It’s been a few days-”

 

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she says, shaking her head and pressing her fingers to her temples. _Tomorrow. I am giving up alcohol tomorrow_. “You saw Matt?”

 

It’s his turn to chuckle dryly. “If by ‘saw’ you mean got the living _shit_ kicked out of me. I had some, uh, objections to his involvement in your personal life. He had some objections to my objections.” His eyes dart away from her, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Expressed them pretty clearly, too. Your boy has a mean right hook.”

 

She can’t even begin to imagine what her face is doing in this moment. “It was Matt,” she says softly, realization hitting her. “He was the one scaring my dates away. What the _hell_ was he thinking?”

 

He shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet hers again. “The usual. Thinks you deserve better than the assholes you’re digging up from those shitty dating sites. But that’s your business. Not mine. Not his.” His lips twist wryly. “You thought it was me, yeah? That’s why you were pissed.”

 

She wrinkles her nose with embarrassment, but he just laughs, and her skin tingles at the sound. It’s pure, buoyant, and she wonders if this is as close as she’ll come to a glimpse of the man he was before.

 

“So, I guess I owe you an apology, then,” she says.

 

He smirks. “Guess you do.” His eyes glint mischievously, and she’s suddenly aware that he is inches from her - without realizing it, she’s moved towards to him as they’ve been talking, close enough to count the patchwork of colors that stain his battered face, to see the tremor beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw. Close enough to kiss him.

 

She feels dizzy. Breathless.

 

 _That’s your business. Not mine. Not his_. The Punisher, defending her right to date. She bites back a laugh at the hilarity of the situation. He tilts his head again, eyes searching her face, and warmth unfurls within her. She makes a split-second decision, leans in.

 

Touches her lips to his.

 

He recoils. “What are you doing?”

 

“Apologizing. Will you just hold still?” she whispers, pressing her mouth against his firmly. Her fingers dig into the nape of his neck, her tongue darting past his teeth, and she feels a twinge of satisfaction at the small noise he makes in the back of his throat. Emboldened, she nips at his lower lip. The small noise becomes a growl, and he backs her up against the alley wall, hands skimming over the curve of her breasts to trace up her neck. She’s weightless, untethered.

 

“This is a god-awful idea,” he rasps as he breaks away, eyes searing into hers. “Another excuse for Murdock to beat me senseless.”

 

“You’re probably right,” she says, arching her back so that her hips are pressing against his. “Think we should stop?”

 

He smiles and closes the space between them.


	4. burn up the sky (you're a constellation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut. :)
> 
> Prompt: "Shh, they'll hear us" + "I didn't know you could do that."

(She knows this is a mistake.)

 

Her hands are everywhere; tangled in his hair, grasping at his shoulders, nails carving destruction into his skin as he moves between her legs. His breath, hot and ragged against the curve of her neck, sends a shudder rippling through her, and she inhales sharply as the movement shifts the position of his hips against hers. She curls one leg around his waist, urging him on ( _mistake mistake mistake_ ), and then he’s pushing himself inside her. Her world narrows.

 

“Oh, _god_ -”

 

His mouth captures hers, swallowing her cries. For a breathless moment, she is lost within the kiss, his tongue sliding over hers and her fingers fluttering against his face. Then he’s slipping out of her, and back in, and she can’t help but moan from deep within her throat, the force of it vibrating against her windpipe.

 

“Shh, Karen,” he breaks away softly, smiling and whispering against her lips. “The neighbors, they’ll hear-”

 

That’s it. In one swift motion she’s pushing him onto his back and straddling his waist, pinning his arms above his head. His eyes glint in the darkness. “I don’t care,” she says, voice low. He’s trembling beneath her hands, and desire uncurls within her stomach. Lowering herself onto him slowly, she curves her body over his, her hair a golden curtain framing his face. She rocks against him, hard, smirking as his breath catches and he digs his fingers into her back. “Don’t hold back, Frank. I want to hear you scream.”

 

(He does more than that.)

 

\-----

 

She’s quivering when she wakes, riding out the shock waves that her dream produced. Her mind is awash in a haze of sleep and afterglow, and it takes her a few seconds to register that her phone is buzzing on the nightstand. She fumbles for it in the dark, squinting against the brightness of the screen as she brings it close to her face.

 

_UNKNOWN CALLER_

 

Frowning, she swipes the answer icon and lifts the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

 

 _“Ma’am,”_ comes a familiar, gruff reply.

 

She cringes, turning her face and burying her head into her pillow. Heat blooms in her cheeks. “Hi, Frank,” she mumbles against her pillow. _Just had a wild sex dream about you. How’s your night going_? “Is everything alright?”

 

“ _Yeah, yeah, fine,_ ” he says. “ _Sorry to call so late. Did I wake you_?”

 

“Um, no. I was already up.”

 

“ _Surprised you answered, to be honest.”_

 

She flips onto her back, eyes tracing patterns into her ceiling. “I almost didn’t,” she says. “You came across as an unknown caller. You get a new burner?”

 

“ _Yeah._ ” He’s silent for a few moments. “ _Got a buddy who specializes in all this technological shit. Hacked it so that the number changes every few days, makes it harder to track. Or something like that.”_

 

“Interesting. I…didn’t know you could do that,” she says slowly.

 

“ _Yeah. Anyways_ ,” he continues, “ _I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares, you know. I just…just thought I’d call. Wanted to hear your voice._ ”

 

Her heart clenches. Images from her dream blur behind her eyes - limbs tangling, bodies merging, fire consuming. Red rises in her face once more, but this time, she smiles.

 

“I’m glad,” she says.


	5. lovers dance when they're feeling in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Karen's young teenage neighbor has the biggest crush on Frank leaving him out of his element but a ton of amusement from Karen.

“Thanks for walking me back, Frank,” she says, slowing to a halt as she reaches the steps leading up to her apartment. He follows suit, inclining his head slightly and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

 

“Was the least I could do after dragging you to that god-awful coffee joint,” he grumbles. “Shit tasted like feet.”

 

A peal of laughter, short and clear, leaps from her throat. They had gone somewhere new tonight to compare notes on the Roxxon case - their go-to coffee house being closed by the time Karen finally left work - and suffice it to say, the new establishment’s caffeinated beverages had left something to be desired.

 

“It was pretty disgusting,” she agrees. “I don’t think _my_ coffee even tastes that bad.”

 

He cocks his head to one side, nose wrinkling. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, Page.”

 

“You’re a dick,” she says, elbowing him.

 

“Self-proclaimed,” he agrees, lips parting to reveal a signature Frank Castle smile, and her heart kicks within her chest. She’s not sure what this thing between them is, but he’s standing outside her building, and he’s smiling, and damn it, she’s tired of dancing around the issue. She takes a breath.

 

“You could, um…” she looks away, trails a hand through her hair. Meets his gaze again. “You could come up, if you want. Show me what a good cup of coffee tastes like.”

 

His smile fades. “Shit,” he says, and her heart plummets into her gut. “Shit, Karen, I-”

 

He’s interrupted as the door to her building swings open and the sixteen-year-old who lives across the hall emerges at the top of the stairs. “Oh, hey, Karen,” the girl says, voice bright. “How are-” she cuts off, eyes widening at the sight of Frank standing on the sidewalk. She drops her gaze to the ground, hand darting up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “H-how are you?”

 

“I’m doing well, thanks, Jen,” Karen replies. “How are you? How’s your mom doing?”

 

Jen remains at the top of the stairs as if rooted there. “Uh, she’s…she’s a lot better, thanks for asking.” Her eyes dart towards Frank once again, and Karen can see her face flushing even in the hazy half-darkness. She bites back a grin. _Well, if he’s going to turn me down,_ she thinks, _the least I can do is have a little fun_.

 

“Sorry, I’m being really rude,” she says. “This is Frank. Frank, this is my neighbor, Jen.”

 

Frank tips his head forward slightly. “Ma’am,” he says, and Jen’s face turns an even deeper shade of red.

 

“Jen’s mom was one of Nelson and Murdock’s last clients,” Karen says. “The ceiling fell through at their old apartment. Put her mom in the hospital. Their landlord was refusing to cover the medical bills.”

 

“Shitbag,” Frank says, and Karen shoots him a glare. “Sorry, uh…dirtbag.”

 

“Anyways,” Karen says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “we were able to get her expenses covered. And now she’s doing better?”

 

“Yeah,” Jen says softly, shifting her weight between both feet. “Yeah, she’s…she’s good.” She bites her lip. “Well, I should get going…I’ll talk to you later. Nice to meet you, Frank.” She ducks her head as she makes her way down the stairs, and without looking at either of them, she turns and disappears around the corner.

 

Frank glances at Karen, and she can’t help but laugh at the bewildered expression plastered across his face.

 

“What?” he growls, eyes narrow.

 

“Nothing,” she says, grinning. “Just never knew that a teenage girl is all it takes to make the Punisher squirm.” He tilts his head, eyebrows cinching together. “Oh, c’mon. You can’t be that unobservant, Mr. ‘One Shot, One Kill.’ Jen has the biggest crush on you.”

 

“What, her?” His nose scrunches. “Nah, don’t believe it.”

 

“Believe it, Romeo,” she says, enjoying the withering stare he fixes her with. “She’s asked about you more times than I can count. Of course, she’s only seen you when you’re stumbling into my apartment, bleeding half to death. But still, she’s got it bad for you.”

 

His eyes find hers, and her throat suddenly feels tight. _Christ, I’m no better than a sixteen-year-old._ She’s not sure when her feelings for Frank Castle evolved into the swirl of emotions she’s experiencing in this moment, but she finds that she doesn’t care. His voice is resounding in her head, a conversation about pain and people being close enough to tear you up inside. _Use two hands, and don’t let go_ , he had said.

 

Before she can talk herself down, she steps towards him, placing a hand on his chest. He tenses beneath her fingers, but makes no move to pull away. _This is it, Page,_ she thinks, marveling at the way his breathing has become slightly shallower. _One shot, one kill_. She leans in, presses her lips to his cheek, then tilts her head and whispers in his ear, “She’s not the only one."

 

Then she’s pulling away, turning and walking up the stairs.

 

She feels his eyes on her back as she opens the door and slips inside.


	6. leave me hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine Person A being terrified of spiders, like an actual diagnosed phobia, and Person B doesn’t know this. Person B decides to play a prank by changing Person A’s desktop background to a spider with a sombrero (because memes) and Person A just screams and Person B is like “HOLY SHIT I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP”

“Five more minutes.”

 

She allows herself a small smile as she presses her lips gently to Frank Castle’s forehead. “You said that five minutes ago,” she whispers, tracing the words across his skin. They’re laying in her bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets, and she’s amazed at how moments like these have become her new normal.

 

“Did I?” His arms tighten around her as burrows his head into the crook of her neck. “Don’t remember that at all. I have a brain injury, you know. Memory loss is a common symptom.”

 

Her smile widens and her fingers thread in his hair, massaging the back of his head. “Using your head trauma to keep me in bed, Mr. Castle? That’s a new low, even for you.”

 

She can feel him grinning against her skin. “Is it working?” he mumbles, placing a soft kiss against the curve of her neck.

 

“Damn you,” she gasps, a breathy sigh escaping her lungs as he kisses her again, this time in the space above her clavicle. “I have-” his face drops lower, teeth grazing the skin above her heart - “ _fuck_ , Frank, I…I have work-”

 

“It’s Saturday,” he grumbles, shifting so that he’s propped up on one elbow. “Tell Ellison he can fuck himself.” His eyes glint as they meet hers, burning into her - his right hand slowly drags against her stomach, tracing a line of fire down towards….towards…

 

“Absolutely not,” she laughs, slightly breathless, swatting his hand away. In one swift motion, she’s sitting up, pecking him quickly on the lips, and standing to retrieve her robe. Frank groans and falls onto his back, raking his hands through his hair.

 

“That better be one hell of an article you’re writing,” he growls, and the dark timbre of his voice almost makes her lose what little self-restraint she’s been clinging to. Her fingers twitch against the sash of her robe - it would be so, _so_ easy to rip it off, tumble into his arms - but she shakes her head and moves towards the kitchen. _Ellison will kill you if you don’t make this deadline_ , she thinks, attempting to maintain her resolve. _You just need some coffee. Coffee to fill the sex void_.

 

She’s pouring them both a cup when he emerges from her bedroom a few minutes later, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. “I know what you’re doing,” she says as she slides his coffee mug towards him, fixing him with what she hopes is her most intimidating glare. She struggles to keep her eyes on his face, gaze averted from his very muscular chest and abdomen. “You’re trying to distract me.”

 

“Don’t know what you mean,” he says with a smirk, taking a sip of coffee. “Frankly, ma’am, I’m a little insulted that you think my intentions are anything less than honorable.”

 

She rolls her eyes and turns, grabbing her laptop from its place on the kitchen table. “Look, I only need a couple hours, okay?” she says, settling onto the sofa. “Then I’m yours the rest of the day, honorable intentions or no- _Jesus fucking Christ_!”

 

The picturesque mountain wallpaper on her computer’s desktop has been replaced with an image of the world’s hairiest, ugliest spider - wearing a fucking _sombrero_ , as if that will somehow detract from said hairiness and ugliness - and she yelps as she shoves it away from her, revulsion rippling through her.

 

“What’s wrong?” He’s at her side, kneeling, turning the laptop screen towards himself-

 

\- and to her horror, the bastard starts laughing.

 

“Did you do this?” she demands, slapping him across the shoulder.

 

“Yeah,” he says, still chuckling. “Yesterday, when you were at work. Forgot about it ‘till now…we were, uh, a little busy last night-”

 

“You asshole,” she hisses, burying her head in her hands. A violent shudder ripples through her, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Ugh, just…get it away from me.”

 

“What-”

 

“The laptop,” she seethes. “I have a thing with spiders, okay? I can’t…..just get it away from me.” There’s a rustling of movement, the sound of her laptop clicking closed as he places it on the coffee table, and then he’s settling next to her on the sofa.

 

“Shit, Karen,” he says, voice low and soft. “I’m such a jackass, I’m sorry-”

 

She snaps her eyes open, turns to face him. His eyes are heavy, his face twisted with guilt, and she realizes in this moment that he’s just as afraid as she is, afraid of overstepping, of saying or doing something that will fracture this fragile happiness. She remembers sitting across from him the night the Blacksmith tried to have her killed, listening to him spout some bullshit about the people who can hurt you being the ones close enough to do it. She thinks she’s finally starting to understand.

 

 _Fuck it._ Before she can talk herself out of it again, she’s shedding her robe and pinning him to the sofa beneath her. “I know how you can make it up to me,” she whispers, lips grazing his, and then she’s lost in the contours of his skin, the taste of his breath mingling with hers.

 

She misses her deadline.


	7. soft edges (pull me back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth”

She can feel Frank Castle’s heartbeat.

 

It’s been mere seconds since he pressed her up against the cold wall with no explanation, arms cocooned around her and chest crushed against hers so hard she can feel his pulse like it’s her own, and she should probably be more pissed off than she is. But then she remembers the last time they were this close in proximity - _bullets exploding overhead, his body caged over hers, and those arms, those damn arms again, encircling her like a castle -_

 

 _Ha. Castle_ , she smirks to herself before thinking, _Jesus, so not the time for your shitty puns, Page. Get it together_. She blinks herself back to reality, and Frank’s face swims into view, angled away from her, eyes narrow with focus and mouth pinched in concentration. If he turns his head, they’d be close enough to trade breaths.

 

(Or other things. For a breathtaking second, she wonders if his lips feel as soft as they look.)

 

“Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” she whispers, a strange mixture of irritation and desire swirling within her gut.

 

“Shh,” is his response as he tilts his head. Listens.

 

“Frank-”

 

“ _Shhhh_.”

 

She really, _really_ should be more pissed off than she is.

 

A chill dances across her face as a slice of night breeze cuts through the abandoned warehouse they’re standing in. It smells like rot and rain, but at least it’s…elsewhere. All it took was a text from an unknown number - _pier 8, two hours_ \- and she was off the couch, shrugging her coat on, practically sprinting out the door. Between Ellison breathing down her neck at work and Foggy redoubling his herculean efforts to get her and Matt on speaking terms again, she needs to be elsewhere. Just for one night.

 

_Click._

 

It’s unmistakable, even in the hazy half-darkness - the sound of a hammer being cocked back.

 

Fear spikes through her, and her hands instinctively dart out to clutch at Frank’s jacket. He presses in closer, and her lungs are filled with the scent of him, all smoke and gunmetal and something else she can’t identify, piercing and sweet. His head swivels and his eyes bore into hers, searing an unspoken order into her brain. _Don’t move a muscle._

 

For a few breathless moments, everything is silence.

 

Then-

 

“God, this is _not_ what I meant when I said you two should bang.”

 

Confusion ripples through her, mirrored on Frank’s face. Slowly, his eyes go wide with recognition, and then he’s springing away from her like shrapnel from an explosion. The pang of disappointment she feels is swiftly overshadowed by the sight of Jessica Jones stalking into view, wearing an all-knowing smirk.

 

“Christ, Jones,” Frank growls. “Think you could keep your hired muscle in check? She gave me a fucking heart attack.”

 

“Careful. I could still kick your ass if I wanted to,” says Trish Walker as she emerges from behind Jessica, lowering her handgun and flashing a grin in Karen’s direction.

 

“So, an abandoned warehouse?” Jessica says, voice dripping with disdain. “Really, Francis? I know it’s been awhile, but-”

 

“Jess,” Trish admonishes lightly, eyes sparkling.

 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Karen interjects with a laugh, “but Frank and I were just staking out the place. We got a tip that Hogarth’s sack-of-shit Roxxon client was going to be here tonight.”

 

“We heard the same,” Jessica says. “And _Patsy_ , here, was just itching to try out the ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine we’ve been practicing.”

 

“Like hell,” Trish says. She pauses a moment before continuing. “Even though we both know I’d be the good cop.”

 

“Still. That doesn’t mean you need to lug that death machine with you everywhere you go. You have me. Super strength, remember?”

 

“Super strength can’t stop a bullet, Jess.”

 

“Neither can another bullet, Walker!”

 

Karen allows herself a small grin as the two women bicker. _You beautiful idiots_. Sighing softly, her eyes flick towards Frank; he’s rubbing the back of his neck as he shuffles his feet and stares pointedly at the ground. Her smile widens. _You beautiful, awkward idiot._

 

As if he can feel the force of her eyes on his face, he glances up. His eyes blaze a line of fire between the two of them, and not for the first time, she feels stripped bare beneath the intensity of his gaze. Normally, she would look away, break the contact, but not tonight. Tonight is a night for bickering lovers, lingering gazes, the force of someone else’s heartbeat against her chest.

 

_Elsewheres._

 

Frank Castle gazes back at Karen Page, and smiles.


	8. was it the blue night, gone fragile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

_I’m already dead_ , he tells her. She sees it in his face, in his empty, unflinching eyes, the moment he eviscerates his soul, becomes someone who tears things apart instead of holding them together. The moment the man is devoured by the monster.

 

Then he slams the door in her face, and she limps back to the car thinking a million and half thoughts. _Frank Castle is dead. Bury him. Mourn him. And move on._

 

—–

 

She really thought she had.

 

—–

 

“Claire, hurry,” she shouts in the direction of her phone, keeping her cardigan pressed firmly against the hole in Frank Castle’s abdomen as he bleeds out onto her sheets. “He-he’s losing a lot of blood.”

 

“ _I’m almost there_ ,” Claire Temple’s voice rings back over speaker phone. _“Keep putting pressure on the wound. And keep talking to me_.”

 

Her head feels fuzzy and weightless, like it’s floating several feet above her body. She’s not sure why her body is reacting this way; she’s worn blood on her skin more times than she’d like to count in the past year. Still, the bloom of red staining her white cardigan sends a sliver of nausea roiling through her. She closes her eyes.

 

“ _Karen? Karen, say something. I’m a block from your building. Stay with me. Karen?_ ”

 

She blinks furiously. “I’m fine. I’m…” she trails off, staring down at the man she tried to bury but never quite could. He’s unconscious from blood loss, and in this state, his face looks unburdened, almost peaceful. _God, Frank, please don’t die. Please, don’t_. Her world narrows, blurs into fragments, pieces; Claire’s steady voice anchoring her through the phone, Frank’s life seeping out onto her comforter. A white cardigan slowly turning red.

 

—–

 

Claire makes it in time. He doesn’t die.

 

(She cries herself to sleep that night, though, so there’s that.)

 

—–

 

He disappears for a few weeks. She distracts herself by diving headfirst into any work she can find, picking up extra fluff pieces at the Bulletin, staying late to pore over case files for her current story, even offering to dog-sit for her neighbor while he’s out of town. Anything to get out of her apartment. Anything to get the stench of red out of her nose.

 

Some small part of her wonders why she’s not angry that he left again. Objectively, she understands that this is his life now, this is who he’s chosen to be, but subjectively, she’s still not convinced he succeeded when he tried to bury his humanity that night in the woods. Maybe Frank Castle can’t be destroyed that easily.

 

(Maybe the monster and the man share a heartbeat, after all.)

 

She’s mulling these thoughts over in her head one afternoon, so distracted that it’s not until her keys are halfway turned in the lock that she realizes the door to her apartment is already ajar. Pulse kicking within her chest, she takes a cautious step through the doorway.

 

He looks - well, he looks normal, which is to say beaten and bruise-stained and holding not one, but two cups of coffee in his hands as he leans against her counter. She sighs.

 

“Breaking into my apartment is a hell of a way to say thank you, Frank.”

 

His mouth twitches. “With all due respect, ma’am, your locks are shit.”

 

She chooses to ignore this, closing the door behind her and shrugging out of her coat. “I hope you remembered to add sugar,” she says, nodding towards the drinks. He steps towards her, proffering one of the coffee cups, and she accepts it hesitantly, taking care to avoid meeting his gaze. She can the force of it, burning a line of fire across her skin, but she pointedly stares elsewhere as she takes a swig. “Been here long?” she asks, moving past him towards the living room.

 

“Nah,” he says. “I was just in the neighborhood. Figured you’d be less pissed about the forced entry if I brought caffeine.”

 

“Smart thinking,” she says, settling onto her sofa. A semi-comfortable silence stretches between them; he breaks it first.

 

“I, uh…owe you an apology, for the other night,” he says. She darts a quick glance at him, meeting his eyes before he angles his face away. “Showing up at your door like that, putting you in that position…” he trails off, nose wrinkling as he brings his coffee cup to his lips.

 

She pauses before responding. “You scared the shit out of me, Frank, really. I thought you were going to-” she cuts herself off, unwilling to verbalize the thoughts spinning through her mind. _I thought you were going to die. Please don’t scare me like that again._ There’s a sudden, stinging heat behind her eyes; she digs her fingernails into her arm, hard.

 

He’s quiet for several moments. “You remember the night we met?” he finally says, voice low. “Why I asked you to stay?”

 

Memories tug at her; hospital monitors beeping, red lines of tape, a man with a broken voice. _You stay. Please_. She looks at him, trying to reconcile that man with the one now standing in her kitchen. Her voice catches as she struggles to push words past the lump in her throat. “You said I helped you remember.”

 

A huff of laughter escapes him. “That’s what you do, yeah? You help people. Even people like me, the ones who don’t deserve it. During the trial…all that crazy shit was going down, and you helped me feel…normal, or some bullshit like that. I can’t explain it.” He ducks his head, trigger finger tapping a restless staccato against his cup. “Point is…things are easier, with you. Better. I just wanted you to know that.”

 

She stares at him as if seeing him for the first time, and the unspoken _thing_ between them pulls at her, compresses within her chest. She’s not sure when everything became so convoluted and twisted, but somehow… _This feels right_ , she thinks. _Normal_. _Or some bullshit like that_.

 

“So, where does that leave us?” she asks.

 

He gives his coffee cup a shake. “Don’t know about you, but I’m out of caffeine. You could probably use another cup yourself, yeah? Crazy-ass criminals breaking into your apartment, that’s some stressful shit.” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling and mouth curving up at the edges.

 

_Right. Normal._

 

It’s her turn to smile.


	9. now your fear is reckless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair.”

She doesn’t mean to stay the night. His safehouse is a _shithole_ , for one thing, nestled away in the basement of the apartment building like an afterthought; there’s barely room for one body to move around the cramped space, let alone two. The only horizontal surface not littered with Punisher paraphernalia is a twin mattress tucked against the far wall, an island in a scattered sea of gun cases and ammunition boxes, and this is where the two of them set up camp, Karen propped against the wall and Frank hunched across from her at the foot of the mattress as they pore over a stack of reports detailing the latest Kitchen gang hits.

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t stay long,” she tells him, but soon she’s sinking into a steady work rhythm, losing all sense of time as the hours smear together. Exhaustion sets in; she can feel it pressing against her skull and itching behind her eyes, but she plugs on as her brain strains furiously to make connections and piece everything together. It’s a little after three a.m. when her body finally decides it’s had enough.

 

 _Just finish this one_ , she thinks, the document in her hands blurring as her eyes flutter open-closed-open. _Then you can go home. Five more…five more minutes_.

 

\-----

 

(She doesn’t go home.)

 

\-----

 

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is the stiff ache in his neck. He’d slept sitting upright, back to the wall and head tilted at an awkward angle over his shoulder, and his scalenes protest grumpily as he rolls his neck in a slow circle. Yawning, he blinks his eyes open - and is quickly made aware of the second thing, which is that Karen Page is horizontal on his mattress, and her legs are draped over his.

 

He stares down at her for several seconds as his sleep-fogged brain struggles to fill in the gaps. The last thing he remembers is looking over a case file for one of the lawyers being held on retainer for the cartel, but after that, his mind is a blank haze. _Must’ve slept through the night_ , he thinks blearily. That’s something that hasn’t happened since before the carousel, back when he could close his eyes without seeing his family’s faces rip apart again and again. Back when he was still Frank Castle, and not something else entirely.

 

As if she can hear this barrage of thoughts rattling around in his skull, Karen shifts in her sleep, legs extending slightly as she rolls onto her side. Hot adrenaline spikes through his veins, jolting him fully awake, but her eyes remain closed. His own gaze snags on her still-sleeping form, her mussed hair and half-parted lips, the steady rise and fall of her chest -

 

\- and, _shit,_ he thinks she might be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long goddamn time -

 

The thought burns like acid, and he yanks his eyes away, claustrophobia compressing his chest and choking his throat. He feels trapped, caged within the walls of his own body. Hands trembling, he carefully disentangles his legs from hers and slides off the mattress, making a beeline for the shower, and as the water hisses against his skin, he closes his eyes, breathes deeply, repeats their names over and over in his head like a mantra. _Maria. Lisa. Frank, Jr. Maria. Lisa. Frank, Jr. Maria_ …

 

\-----

 

That night, his dreams are red.


	10. leave the stars in the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You’ve said you’re going to leave, but I don’t want you to go and if I don’t say something now…”

The first time he asks her, they’re strangers.

 

“My job was to keep them safe,” he says past the ball in his throat. “I didn’t. I didn’t do it.”

 

Her eyes go glassy, unfocused as she brings a hand to her mouth and chokes out, “uh, the…the questions can wait a minute. I’ll just-” She jerks away, towards the door. “Why don’t I come back when you’re…”

 

Panic spikes in his chest. He’s afraid - shit, he’s _terrified_ \- that if this woman leaves now, she’ll take the memories with her, and he’ll have nothing, nothing but a hole in his skull to remind him of everything he’s lost.

 

( _Torn-apart faces, empty eyes_ ).

 

His world narrows to a point.

 

“You stay.” He says it without thinking. It’s a reflex, easy as breathing.

 

“Please.”

 

\-----

 

They’re not strangers anymore. He’s not sure what the hell he is to her, or she to him; they’ve crossed paths maybe half a dozen times since that night in the woods - _you’re dead to me, do you hear me?_ \- but hers is still the first name that blazes through his mind whenever shit goes south.

 

And tonight’s definition of “shit going south” is Karen Page being a little too good at her goddamn job.

 

She’s facing the skyline as he emerges from the stairwell onto the roof, her back to him, but she turns at the sound of the door swinging shut. She looks… _exhausted_ , he thinks, cataloguing the dark rings under her eyes, the sharp slant of her cheekbones. His stomach twists.

 

“Thought I told you to stop digging,” he says.

 

She exhales a small laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve never really been a good first-time listener.” Her eyes are ablaze with stubborn determination, and he bites back a laugh of his own. Karen _fuckin_ ’ Page.

 

“I noticed.” He steps towards her, instinctively tugging at the brim of his cap. “Your headlines aren’t exactly subtle.”

 

Her breath hitches. One word hangs unspoken in the air between them.

 

_Kandahar._

 

She ducks her head, hand trailing through her hair. Snaps her eyes up to meet his. “What do you want me to say, Frank? This is my job. Some of us don’t have the luxury of…” she throws an arm out. “This. Running around on rooftops, playing vigilante.”

 

“Luxury?” Anger spikes in his chest, chokes his throat. “That’s what you think this is?”

 

Her eyes soften. “I didn’t mean-”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” he growls, burying his rebuttal before it can even take shape. “These people, these _shitbags_ you’re going after, they’re not your typical street thugs. They have military training, yeah? Which means they won’t threaten you, or try to scare you.” He lets the implication sink in, blood burning as the unfinished thought hammers against his skull.

 

_They’ll just kill you._

 

She sighs. “This is why you asked me here, Frank? To tell me things I already know?”

 

He doesn’t answer. She’s… _looking_ at him, like she can see right through him, straight down to his bruised skeleton, his battered soul, and the urge to glance away itches behind his eyes. He doesn’t.

 

“Look,” she says, voice tight and low. “It’s been a really long day, and I don’t have the energy to deal with your bullshit tonight. So if you have nothing else to say…”

 

There’s a hundred different things he can say, a thousand, but his words are suddenly stuck, caught in his concrete lungs and swollen throat. Sharp silence stretches between them for a moment - then she’s shaking her head and shouldering her purse, stepping past him towards the stairwell door -

 

\- and he’s back in that hospital bed, watching her walk away and clinging to memories as broken as he is, and he’s afraid, he’s afraid he’s afraid he’s afraid -

 

“Karen.”

 

His voice croaks, catches around the word. Some distant part of himself realizes it’s the first time his lips have formed the shape of her name.

 

The click of her heels against the rooftop cuts off, and he jerks his head towards her, over his shoulder. She’s standing statue-still, facing away from him, hand clenched at her side. “Give me a reason, Frank,” she says, so softly he almost misses it. “Give me a reason to stay.”

 

\-----

 

(He doesn’t.)


	11. only got bad things on my mind (when i'm with you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wait, my hero’s secret identity is… you? To be honest, I’d always kind of hoped…

The coffee is her first clue. She comes back from a late lunch one afternoon to find a bag of it sitting on her desk, the house blend from a joint they went to once while dissecting a case, and her pulse skips in her throat. _He wouldn’t_ , she tells herself as she fishes her phone from her pocket and punches Foggy’s speed dial. _No way. He wouldn’t._

 

Foggy just laughs when she tries to thank him. _“Wasn’t me,_ ” he says. “ _And you know how much I enjoy taking credit for selfless good deeds. Maybe you have a secret admirer at the office, or something.”_

 

“Or something,” she mumbles, and Frank’s face dances behind her eyes.

 

\-----

 

She’s grabbing dinner with Claire and Misty a few weeks later when the song starts playing overhead. A peal of laughter bubbles up and out of her throat as the opening lyrics hit her ears - _when you wish upon a star, your dreams will take you very far_ \- and the two women sitting across from her pause mid-bites to stare at her.

 

“Everything alright, blondie?” Misty asks, head tilted and eyebrows arched.

 

Claire smirks. “You better not be laughing at my salad, Page. Just because I can’t pronounce half the things in it doesn’t mean it’s not delicious.” She takes a triumphant bite. “Mmmmmm, kale.”

 

Karen grins. “You hate kale.”

 

“That’s because it’s nasty,” Misty mumbles.

 

Claire shoots her a death glare. “Hey, who was that nice lady that kept you from bleeding out all over the basement of Harlem’s Paradise?”

 

“A crazy woman who pretends to like kale.”

 

Karen’s smile widens. She twirls her fork idly through her pasta as the song’s chorus rises above her friend’s bantering - _you’re a shining star, no matter who you are_ \- and his face once again floats to the forefront of her mind, bruised and bloodied.

 

_(You were safe. I just wanted you to know that.)_

 

She glances over her shoulder, just in case.

 

\-----

 

Her life at the Bulletin becomes a blur. She’s always been one to dive into quicksand head-first with little regard for how she’ll pull herself out, and it’s no different with her work. She loves it, the subtle art of interacting with people and the little thrill she gets when they start to open up and tell her their story. The writing comes just as naturally; she’d been a few credits shy of an English major back in Vermont, and she quickly remembers how satisfying it is to chase that blinking cursor, bleed words onto a blank page and rearrange them until they’re something else. Something that’s _hers._

 

She’s never put much stock in things like fate or destiny, but after a few months at the Bulletin, she thinks maybe this is the reason she ended up in New York.

 

Maybe she’s _meant_ for this.

 

She’s clinging to this thought tonight, curled up on the floor of her apartment amidst a sea of haphazardly strewn documents and files. It’s the weekend before the deadline for her latest story, and she’s hit a dead end. Fifteen hundred words of...something litter the screen in front of her, but she’s fighting to put the pieces together this time, struggling to grasp the bigger picture. “C’mon, Page, you can do this,” she mutters, glaring at her laptop. _Keep going. Keep digging._

 

She’s so absorbed in this mantra that she almost doesn’t notice the new text flashing up at her from her phone. It’s a blocked number, so she knows it’s him - he switches burners every couple weeks or so. She swipes at the lock screen, assuming this has something to do with the drug ring they’ve been scoping out uptown -

 

_happy birthday, page._

 

She blinks at the simple message, confused, and flicks her eyes towards the date at the bottom of her laptop screen. _Well, shit._

 

She’s never forgotten her birthday before, and she’s not sure what it says about the current state of her life that this is the first year she’s missed. With a pinch of irritation, she realizes that Foggy must have forgotten too, because she hasn’t heard from him - d _oes he even know it’s today?_ She rakes a hand through her hair and trawls through the past two years, straining to remember if she’d ever told him or Matt when her birthday was. Regret swells in her chest. The three of them had been so close, once, but all she can see now are the lies and secrets that tore them apart. Had they ever really known each other?

 

The thought makes her unbearably sad, so she shoves it away and glances down at Frank’s text. It seems more than a little impossible that he typed these words, but what about her life lately hasn’t? She feels a strange and sudden urge to pinch herself, something she used to a lot as a kid whenever reality got a little too real, but instead, she types out:

 

_not sure how I feel about this new “secret hero” thing you’ve got going on._

 

She doesn’t have to wait long for his response.

 

_don’t know what you mean, ma’am._

 

She smirks and plays along.

 

_first the coffee and now this? what’s next on the good deeds to-do list, captain punisher?_

 

A few minutes pass with no reply, and she feels embarrassment start to set in. Neither of them have really tested the tenuous boundaries of this strange friendship; she kicks herself mentally for thinking tonight was a good time to start -

 

One beep, two. She cringes and looks down.

 

_I know it’s your birthday, page but shut up_

 

\-----

 

She finishes her article and falls asleep smiling.


	12. hold me like you never lost your patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kastle + nose kiss / a kiss with a fist

Here’s the truth: they fight more often than not. Frank is the first to admit his default mode of existence is to be constantly on the verge of combustion - what had they called it during the trial, _sympathetic storming?_ \- but lately he’s discovered that he’s not the only one. Karen Page has a hell of a temper, the fire to his gasoline, and here’s a truth he’ll take to the grave -

 

He likes it.

 

He’s been on his own so long he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have a real argument, _step on that shit, feed it to a dog,_ the sick-sweet catharsis of ripping into someone and tearing them to pieces knowing full well they’ll return the favor - and she does, _oh_ she does. She screams her throat raw and bares her teeth and he’s reminded of Maria, of unrelenting wildfire and people being close enough to hurt each other.

 

 _Walk away,_ he pleads with himself, _walk away, leave, end this before it spirals into something you can’t control_ , but he never does. It doesn’t bode well for him, he thinks, that he’s willing to sacrifice everything else for his cause, but not this, not her.

 

\-----

 

They cross a line one night. Karen comes home bleeding from a wound that’s split her palm to wrist - “why do these assholes always carry _knives_?” she grits through clenched teeth as he wraps her hand - and he knows, he _knows_ she can handle herself, but when she asks him when they’re rendezvousing with their informant this week -

 

“You ain’t comin’,” he says without thinking.

 

The look she fixes him with could shatter glass. “ _Excuse_ me?”

 

Frank’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward, so he meets her fiery gaze head-on and says, “I got this one. Don’t need you.”

 

She laughs, a biting sound. “Oh, this is _perfect_. You, you of all people, you’re gonna pull this bullshit with me, because some idiot-” she brandishes her hand in his face - “gave me a goddamn _papercut_?”

 

The acid in her voice hits him like a punch to the gut. “’That’s not… _jesus_ , Page, that’s what I meant-”

 

“Then _enlighten_ me,” she growls, and he feels the familiar surge of adrenaline, fever-bright and humming in his bloodstream. _Don’t you know_ , he wants to scream, bellow at the top of his lungs, _don’t you know, don’t you know,_ but instead he kisses her, all teeth and rage and her hands curl to fists in his hair. This, he thinks, this is what he wants, her fire and her strength and her complete, unflinching resolve, the way she laughs in the face of every dark and terrible thing this city spits out. So much of himself has been lost to this war-torn crusade but she makes him feel _human_ , and it’s more than his selfish heart deserves but he wants all of it, all of her.

 

He has her pressed against the wall and the sound she makes in her throat as her hips arch against his sends a jolt of heat fissuring through him. She snags his lower lip between his teeth, bites sharply, and he hisses, pulls away and looks straight into her wildfire eyes -

 

“Understand?” he rasps, and it’s not a grand, romantic declaration but it’s something, it’s enough. He hopes that one day he’ll have more to give.

 

Her lips curve. “I understand you’re an idiot,” she says, lacing her fingers behind his neck and touching her forehead to his. “Open your eyes, Frank. I’m with you. I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.” Then she’s pressing a soft kiss to the bridge of his nose and _this is it,_ he thinks, _use two hands and never let go._

 

The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it should.


	13. don't wanna cry but i break that way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It's still heavy

Karen Page grows up pretending. She escapes to the broom closet downstairs, curls into the dark space and when she closes her eyes she’s an astronaut, a deep-sea explorer, a knight scaling tall towers to rescue damsels in distress.

 

(She’s always the knight, even when Kevin plays with her. _It just makes sense_ , she explains, all pragmatism. _I’m your big sister, it’s my job to keep you safe_ \- )

 

\-----

 

(Guilt is a heavy thing. She’s not sure if she’ll ever dig herself out from under it.)

 

\-----

 

“Maybe this is just the universe trying to balance the scales.”

 

“Don’t,” Frank warns, low in his throat.

 

“Maybe -” she starts, then immediately cuts off, hissing around the pain. Talking _hurts_ when you’ve got a couple of cracked ribs.

 

He seizes the opportunity to interject. “Things don’t happen for a reason, c’mon, that’s bullshit. Things just happen.”

 

She opens her mouth to respond at the same moment Frank presses the ice compress against her torso, and she yelps, twists away from the cold.

 

“Hold still, Page, _jesus_ ,” he says and it takes every ounce of her self-restraint not to hit him. They’re hunkered down in what she assumes is his latest safehouse, and he’s patching her up like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been weeks since they last spoke -

 

She’s too tired to follow that train of thought to completion. “Your bedside manner could use some work,” she grits out instead.

 

“Duly noted. Hold this.” He slides the compress into her hand, turns away and starts rummaging through his med kit. “How’s the pain?”

 

A harsh laugh escapes her throat. “Emotional or physical?”

 

She says it lightly but he goes statue-still, snaps his eyes up to meet hers. “Hey -”

 

“I’m not you, Frank.” Her voice wavers but she presses on, swallows past the ball in her throat. “I can’t pretend like everything’s okay, like I’m okay when I’m not. What if I’m -?” she glances away. “What if I’m the monster now?”

 

“You’re not,” he says softly.

 

“How do you know -?”

 

In one fluid motion he’s reaching out, turning her face towards his with the pads of his fingers. Her skin burns where he’s touching her.

 

“I know you,” he says.

 

\-----

 

(A memory:

 

Frank’s hand never leaves her elbow as she half-stumbles down the hallway, dizzy and breathless, gunfire still roaring in her ears -

 

His fingers are steady, an anchor. _I got you_ , he says. _I got you_.)

 

—–

 

Guilt is heavy. Acceptance is heavier. She feels the weight of it in her chest, in her bones.

 

“I know you,” Frank Castle says.

 

 _I know me, too,_ she thinks.


	14. haunted by the ghost of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: just this once, the universe responds

Punisher, they call him.

 

Karen stares down at his x-ray, ghosts her fingers over the bullet hole in his skull and thinks, _who are you, really?_

 

(Sometimes she lies awake at night and asks herself the same question. She always falls asleep waiting for an answer.)

 

\-----

 

“It’s just a nickname,” Foggy tells her. It’s the morning after the Metro General shooting and he’d walked into the office to find her still awake, scouring the hospital’s morgue reports on her laptop and imagining her name at the top of each one.

 

“Yeah, well, what if I deserve it?” She says it without hesitation, without really thinking and she realizes her mistake too late as she glances up to see her friend’s bright eyes narrowed with confusion.

 

“What’re you talking about -”

 

“Nothing,” she interrupts, forcing a smile. “Nothing, I’m fine.” Her face feels stiff and wrong and she knows Foggy isn’t buying it, but he doesn’t push. She can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed.

 

\-----

 

Punisher, they call him. They don’t know that in a past life, he used to _sing along_ to ‘70s funk records.

 

“I really can’t picture it,” she says as they turn the corner out of the hotel’s parking garage. It’s been a few minutes since either of them have spoken and the silence is making her restless. “You and that song. You and...singing.”

 

Frank shrugs, keeps his eyes on the road but his lips pinch into something resembling a smirk. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

 

She darts a glance in his direction. His face is a blur of shadow and streetlight and reminds her of one of those abstract paintings that almost looks like something real, something tangible.

 

 _Who are you?_ she wants to ask.

 

“Where are we going?” she says instead.

 

“Somewhere with coffee,” he grumbles, thumb tapping against the steering wheel. “I’m fuckin’ beat.”

 

She can’t help the laugh that tumbles out of her throat. “You could try, I don’t know, actually _sleeping_ , sometime.”

 

“I sleep.” He sounds _indignant_ , almost, and she digs her nails into her palms to keep from laughing again.

 

“Getting knocked unconscious doesn’t count.”

 

He’s actually smiling now, teeth and all. “Shit, you gonna check my vitals next? Make sure I’m eatin’ three squares a day?”

 

“Shut up,” she mutters, ducks her head to hide the smile blossoming on her lips. Her hair still smells like gunsmoke and her whole body aches from Frank knocking her to the ground but for the first time since the trial, she can breathe. She can _breathe._

 

\-----

 

(This is the part where she reminds herself that she had a life before Frank Castle, before red hospital tape and vigilantes and diners in neighborhoods that are a little sketchy. This is the part where she reminds herself that he complicates things, he complicates _everything_ and she needs to walk away before she forgets how to -)

 

 _Who the hell are you_ , she thinks six months later, sitting across from him in another diner that looks like it’s straight out of a horror movie, only this time, just this once, she really doesn’t want an answer.


	15. i need some temporary saving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said in the dark

Sometimes, late at night when her eyes itch with exhaustion and the words on her screen become a jumbled blur, sometimes, she thinks of home. The most recent memories are transparent as glass but her childhood is a series of fragments, fuzzy at the edges - rain on the breeze, gingersnap crumbs, Kevin laughing over his shoulder and running ahead, always just ahead -

 

And this, plucked from the haze: Penelope Page hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of the night, crying.

 

(Karen remembers standing very still. It’s not until her mother glances up that she realizes she’s been holding her breath.)

 

 _Mommy?_ she says, uncertain, wide-eyed.

 

 _Go back to bed, sweet girl_ , Penelope answers, and her smile is sad. _Everything’s alright._

 

\-----

 

(Karen has to laugh, now. It’s always easier to lie in the dark.)

 

\-----

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep. All she knows is that she’s covered in blood that’s not her own, hot and wet and sticking to her palms, under her nails and in her lungs -

 

She wakes gasping. A firm hand is at her shoulder and she jerks away from the contact, blinking rapidly against the darkness.

 

“Easy,” a familiar voice rasps, “easy, _shhh_ , you’re okay.”

 

Her pulse is thunder in her ears. “Frank?”

 

“I’m here.” He’s perched on the edge of her bed, little more than a shadow-smudged silhouette but she knows he’s looking at her, feels the weight of his gaze like an anchor. She sits up, balls her fists around her sheets to keep from shaking.

 

“I woke you,” she says.

 

“Nah,” Frank says. “I was already up.”

 

Karen hugs her knees tight to her chest. “This is a bad idea,” he’d said earlier tonight when she told him he could stay, but he hadn’t left. Part of her now wishes he would have, because this complicates things, because she’s ashamed that after all these years she’s still torn from sleep by dreams of her brother. (Because she can still feel his fingers grasping at her shoulder, pulling her from nightmare to reality -)

 

That’s when the words spill from her lips faster than she can think. It’s an unfair question but she asks anyways, because Frank never lies to her. “Does this get easier?”

 

He doesn’t ask what she means. He knows.

 

“No,” he says. “But it doesn’t need to. You’ll push through, learn to adapt.”

 

Karen sighs. “And if I can’t? I’m not like you, Frank. I’m not -”

 

“You’re right,” he says low in his throat, reverent. “You’re better.”

 

They’ve moved closer together; Karen can see the outline of his face, hear the hitch of his breath as he exhales. Her skin burns where his fingers dug into her shoulder and her chest aches with the force of her heartbeat and somehow it’s not enough, somehow she needs _more_ , so she leans in and presses her lips to the soft corner of his mouth -

 

He rocks away like she’s slapped him and the sudden blossoming of space between them hits her like a gut punch. “Shit. _Shit_ , I can’t, I’m sorry -”

 

Pain swells in her throat; she chokes it down. _It’s always easier to lie in the dark._

 

“Me too,” she says into the darkness.

 

\-----

 

He leaves. It doesn’t take long for her to go back to sleep after he’s gone. She’s beginning to recognize the silence he leaves behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oa6ACzznTGw)
> 
> Musical inspiration for:
> 
>    
> [chapter three](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkcaoZfGcco)
> 
>  [chapter four](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oa6ACzznTGw)
> 
>  [chapter five](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7Gf2SOmz5Q)
> 
>  [chapter eight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ocX75IpkSk&list=PL50Tx2Ap7Bf33_i3fafy2Y9T0U26JbWH_&index=230)
> 
>  [chapter nine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHdQ3dgLgK4)
> 
>  [chapter ten](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZJdyAtdHP0)
> 
>  [chapter eleven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn3wJ1_1Zsg)


End file.
